Bright as a Feather
by El Burrito
Summary: What is the price of fame? Before Cloud, the chocobo circuit was dominated by three champions: Joe, Ester and Chocobill. They rose to great heights, fell even further, and kind of figured life out, with a lifetime of joy, pain and uncertainty along the way. This is their story.
1. A Single Step

There is nowhere on the planet like the Gold Saucer. People have always flocked there, even when it was just a plain chocobo track like those found at any school on the continent, with a concession stand and a few arcade games. It was their luck that chocobo racing took off like it did, with a few stars rising higher than before and lifting the dingy amusement park with them.

My father, Chip Renegade, was one of those stars, the biggest in his day. Eventually, though, he was eclipsed, by three young upstarts, who raced faster, flashier and more daringly than those before them, his own daughter numbered among them. Back then we were naïve, stupid, and I suppose we still are, because even as a huge death-bringing meteor hurtles toward the planet, the three of us are preoccupied with nothing more than the big, daft birds, intent, as it were, to die as we've lived.

I spent my childhood in comfort and luxury. We had a mansion in Midgar, perched above even the other houses perched above the plate, as well as a sprawling villa in Costa del Sol, a cosy guesthouse in Icicle Inn next door to eminent scholar Professor Gast, and a whole flock of rooms at the one and only Gold Saucer.

The Gold Saucer was my favourite place to stay. It was like a permanent holiday, and I never outgrew the excitement of taking my meals in the crowded dining hall, our table placed higher than all others, where the Director of the park himself dined when he left his offices. Estelle Renegade was well known throughout the park, and allowed unlimited turns on the games of Wonder Square (back then just dots blinking on a screen with hand-operated controls), free entry to all the plays (even the more adult ones, depending on who was watching the gate) and permitted to ride the rollercoaster until the maids had to tuck me into bed, my stomach heaving. Father left me under the eye of a team of generally indifferent nannies, who preferred to sprawl in my lavish rooms while I entertained myself.

Even as a young child, however, one section of the park quickly dominated my life: Chocobo Square. I spent hours crouched in the audience, watching the riders and their birds circle the track. Father almost always led the group, and I looked up to him with the hero worship every child has for their father, and in fact hundreds of young and old men and women also had for Chip Renegade. He tore around the track, the leather of his saddle creaking, his bird stomping at the ground with its powerful claws then leaping, almost flying, bright feathers floating in its wake and Father leaning forward over its head, looking more alive and joyous than I ever saw him.

As soon as I was old enough I asked Father if I could take riding lessons, and it was the first time he really seemed to notice that he had a daughter, numbered among the hired help who followed him from home to home along the Chocobo circuit. The very next day I had my first bird, a light brown female I called Speckle. Within a week my instructor judged me ready to ride her without assistance, and by the end of the month I could send her from a walk to a run to a dash to the energy-depleting sprint.

The years following the arrival of Speckle to my life flowed past in a number of milestones, races, games, medals, ribbons, junior championships and falls. Speckle was followed by my first 'real' bird, a delicate white boy who could run like the wind he was named for. Wind was followed by Sparkle Cowboy, the rare silver chocobo my father presented to me when I was 15 and had discovered irony, and given a name I regretted ever after.

Through it all there were a few other constants, such as the faceless mass of the hired help, the shifting from house to house, town to town, continent to continent. School was a pile of coursework I ignored as long as possible, a scheme that actually worked considerably well, as by the time the school demanded that I hand something in or fail, we were following the circuit to the next town, and the next school.

When I was 16 the single member of the help who had remained with us my entire life finally put a stop to it. Felice Kunsel, the thickset, no-nonsense nanny who had actually attempted to keep tabs on me whenever she was on duty, received word from one of my schools that I was failing, badly, and hadn't handed in a single assignment. Ever.

Felice spoke to my father and the next month, when he and most of the team moved on to the Gold Saucer, I remained at Midgar, clattering sullenly around our mansion with just Felice and handful of other maids and cooks for company. Company was a relative term, of course, because apart from screaming and crying at Felice the first day, I refused to speak to any of them ('punishing' them as the unit that, in my spoilt, childish head, they were), as I was forced to complete my workbooks and, for the first time in my life, actually attend school.

School was a harsh awakening for me. Suddenly I had to rise at a set time, trudge to a building filled with other kids who were not paid to be nice to me, do things I didn't want to do and sit still, without once touching a chocobo.

The first day I was late to class as I couldn't figure out my timetable and the four students I asked gave vague, unhelpful answers and hurried off. I didn't understand. Why wasn't I special here? When I finally scuttled in to maths the teacher just handed me a worksheet covered in weird symbols. The rest of the class was silently writing, and shooting me occasional curious glances. I looked back at the sheet, hoping it would have rearranged itself into something that made sense, but nope, still the same mess. The teacher looked at me, frowned. I picked up my pen and wrote my name, hesitated, and wrote it again and again, for the next thirty minutes, pressing harder and harder the more my stomach twisted, then handed it in and fled when the bell rang.

The other classes were no better. I was way behind the other kids my age, as I'd learned only things that I'd wanted to throughout the years, so while I could read and add perfectly well, I had no idea what algebra or calculus were, or what the Corel uprising was, and couldn't name a single plant. The teachers assumed I was at the usual level for my age without asking or showing any interest in me, so I pretended I was. I sat in class nodding, pretending to listen, scribbling nonsense lines and doodles on paper and wondering how long before they discovered me and sent me back down to colour in with crayons with the four-year-olds it was rapidly becoming apparent were probably my intellectual equals.

Even lunch was a nightmare. Every spot of the school seemed to be crammed with unfamiliar faces. I didn't recognise anyone from any of my classes, and no one made any effort to speak with me. I spent the first day wandering the school, eating the lunch Felice had packed me that morning and trying to look like I was on my way somewhere and not just a friendless loser. I went home, buried my face in Sparkle Cowboy's feathers, and cried. For the first time in my lonely, isolated life, I realised how alone I was.

Things didn't rush to get better. The first few weeks progressed essentially the same as the first day. Some lunches I summoned some courage, approached the nerdier looking groups and planted myself at their outskirts. They tolerated my presence but I had no idea what they were talking about, and their few attempts to include me in the conversation failed miserably. I got so nervous I had no idea what to say, and mumbled one or two words. After that they would give up, and even if I looked for them the next few days I generally didn't succeed.

I was failing every class. Miserably. After several mini-quizzes I was asked to stay back to talk to most of my teachers. Some meetings I avoided altogether, some I couldn't speak for fear of bursting into tears, and some I was surly and aggressive. When nothing came of them I thought maybe they'd somehow got the impression I was more competent than I was, and thought I would catch up. And then I was summoned to meet with the head of our year. Four times.

The first two, she seemed to add my attitude to my inability to pick up basic concepts and arrive at the conclusion that I didn't _want _to learn anything, and was mostly brusque and confrontational. The third time she looked at me pityingly a lot and told me it was ok so many times that I understood that it really _wasn't, _and had to fight burning tears of shame the whole ride home. The fourth meeting I arrived to find her sitting with a boy of my age, with a wide, open smile and terrible haircut. This loser was to be my first friend. And he was assigned by the deputy headmaster.

"This is William," she told me, "He's going to give you a hand with some of the things you're having a bit of trouble with."

I didn't know what to say to that. I didn't say anything, just looked from one to the other. He smiled unfailingly. Something similar flickered persistently at the corners of her mouth, but didn't seem able to follow through.

"You can call me Will," the boy offered helpfully, when the silence got too awkward.

"Ok," I finally replied. "Cool."

"Well I'm glad to see you two are getting along!" the head grinned, "William has kindly offered to stay back after school every now and then to go over some concepts. Did you have plans for this afternoon, Estelle?"

I did, in fact. They involved a giant bird and pretending that I never had to come back to this place. "Guess not," I told her instead. Will was still grinning at me for no reason. It was beginning to make me uncomfortable.

"Great! You two are welcome to use this classroom. I'll leave you to it!"

She bustled out of the room, and it was just me and William.

"It's nice to meet you, Estelle," he smiled, "I'm a big fan of your father!"

I nodded wordlessly. I really didn't care. "What are you meant to teach me?" I asked him.

"Oh." He looked at a piece of paper in front of him. His handwriting was horrendous. "Well I have a transcript of your grades, and it looks like you could use a hand in- well, sort of…"

"Yeah, everything," I told him glumly. "I don't know why they haven't just put me back in grade one."

"Oh-" he looked stricken, "It's not that bad! I mean… I'm sure we can get you up to scratch!"

I looked at him cynically. He looked pretty smart. He probably didn't know what it was like to sit in a class and have no idea what the teacher was talking about, to spend the whole period just trying to avoid their eyes so you didn't have to admit that you didn't even understand the words in the question.

"Yeah, ok. Good luck," I said. "Where do we start?"

He had lists and schedules and diagrams. I'd never seen anyone so organised, and had to wonder if he did anything else in his life. At least I hoped that if anyone could help get me caught up, it would be this kid. Our meetings "every now and then," it turned out, meant four days a week – and we only missed the fifth because he travelled home to his family's property on the outskirts of Kalm on Fridays.

William Choco was a laid-back country boy attending our fine upper-plate school on full scholarship. His clothes were outdated and looked like something a dad would wear (not mine, of course, Chip Renegade never wore anything but the most cutting-edge fashion, and back then the phrase "dad-fashion" would have conjured images of tight, glittering tops, cowboy hats and leather pants). But in the end I had to admit there were worse people to spend time with. Namely, and I was an expert based on my experience, absolutely nobody.

We didn't really talk a lot. He was shy and kind of awkward, and my small-talk skills left a lot to be desired. Plus, if I had to be away from Sparkle Cowboy an extra hour a day it had better be spent making me look less stupid in front of the other kids. So I spent the joyless hour hunched over books learning stupid useless facts like how to move numbers around (the rules were both pointless and endless), how the world was constructed (tiny little pieces, apparently, with equally stupid rules about charge and velocity) and how to use words (which I'd been doing for long enough that I had _that _down pat, thankyou very much, or at least as well as I needed to).

And I guess I wasn't really dumb, or maybe he was just really, _really _smart, because I did sort of start catching up to the others. Suddenly on the days when I sat with random people at lunch – there were just so _many _of them, I thought surely by now I'd run into the same ones occasionally – brought up schoolwork, I could sometimes comment, instead of just waiting for the subject to pass. One particularly shining moment in my memory was when Amber Bennet, a decently pretty girl who sat next to me in History, asked me a question in class about the Wutai-Midgar war, and I was able to answer her. That day she waved to me at lunch and hunched along the seat to make room for me with some other mid-range cool kids. I didn't see her again for three days and then was greeted with just a quick smile across the room, but it was something.

Aside from being really _really _smart, William was eternally patient and infinitely inventive. He put up with my complaining and late arrival and inability to _get _it, and kept me from getting bored by constantly changing his teaching – I learned Mako's advantages by mnemonic, could rap the dates of the Wutaian war's battles and eventually could consistently win at geography "snap." Apart from the amazing teaching, he was also the one person I consistently spoke to every day. And it was different to anyone I'd ever spoken to before. He poked fun at me (it took me a week to realise he was joking, since no one had ever teased me before) and just laughed when I inadvertently made obnoxious, patronising comments. It took me over a month to admit that I actually kind of liked the guy.

That's not to say there weren't days we hated each other. One afternoon he was teaching me about carboxylic acids and their derivatives, or, failing to teach me about them. After asking me the same question four times and at each one receiving the response "I don't _know_," even after telling me the answer, he put his pen down.

"_Ester_," he sighed loudly, almost visibly exhaling exasperation. His exhaustion pinched at my temper; he was here to teach me, how dare he get angry at my stupidity when it was obviously his fault for not doing a better job?

"It's _Estelle,_" I told him shortly. "As in the great actress Estelle Highland of Nibelheim, not that you'd have heard of her?"

He slowly raised one tawny eyebrow. "No… it's ester. As in the water soluble functional group COOR."

"Oh," I replied, defeated.

"What's wrong with you today, _Ester_?" he asked in frustration. "You're not even trying!"

"Four days a week is a lot, you know!" I exploded semi-incoherently, "On top of all the other hours of school and homework and I've never even done any of this before! And I hate it all anyway and I just want to get to spend five minutes with my chocobo without all this stupid stuff in my brain!"

Sparkle Cowboy watched me every morning from the barn as the driver pulled the car out onto the road. Normally I'd ride him every morning and afternoon, but it was getting harder and harder to make time, with late nights finishing assignments or homework making early mornings a chore, and afternoons taken up with Will's tutoring.

"You have a chocobo?" he asked, sounding surprised.

I looked at him witheringly. "I'm Estelle Renegade," I said, "Of course I have a chocobo."

"Of course." My attempts to scorn him almost invariably failed. He just genuinely didn't seem to care what I thought – or what anyone did. "You used to race a bit, didn't you? I remember you took out first in the girls' at the Midgar juniors, right?"

"Every year since I was six," I told him flatly.

"Yeah. I won the boys' a few times." _That _surprised me. I didn't bother to pay much attention to my own competition, let alone the boys', but I wouldn't have picked this slow-talking, potato-farming yokel as a rider, let alone a good one. "You should join the school team," he said.

"There's a school team?" I frowned. I hadn't heard anyone talk about it, or seen posters or- anything.

"Yeah, we're pretty good. I could talk to the coach with you, if you want?"

I wondered how my father would feel, knowing I had to have someone else help me acquire a place on a chocobo team. But I didn't know who the coach was or where to look, so three days later Will was standing beside me when Coach Wirtzer inducted me onto the team based on my name alone.

And just like that, school became bearable. Three times a week Will and I headed from tutoring to training, and Sparkle Cowboy came to stay at the school stables – tended by my own stablehand, of course – admired openly by the other riders, who accepted me immediately.

In retrospect I had always sort of been aware of the chocobo team, I just hadn't realised that that was what they were. They were the uber cool kids, the ones who briefly stopped conversations by entering a room or walking by a group at lunch. Yan Roberts and Jonah Mills' names were scribbled on locker doors and over the inside covers of books school-wide, inside or surrounded by love hearts. The girls walked through the hallways flipping their hair, their outfits and accessories memorised and mimicked by the other students.

Just having a table to sit at was an incredible change for me, it being the cool table was an added bonus. It was most often just the other girls on the team at our table: the boys like to throw balls around and wrestle each other or sit in sprawled, masculine groups elsewhere. They were all super nice once I'd been accepted as well, interested in my thoughts and my life. And they rarely talked about school which, considering I hadn't yet quite caught up, was welcome.

One day I was sitting alone at "our" table, waiting for the other girls – whatever class they were in had run late – when Jonah Mills himself strode over and sat across from me. Immediately old, shy, nervous Estelle returned, the one who never knew what to say. Jonah wasn't just incredibly attractive, he oozed confidence and charm by the bucketload. Everything about him was sharp; he was lean, coiled muscle and a constantly-cocked eyebrow. He wore his clothes stylishly, leather jackets and tight white shirts showing off every muscle. Heads all around us turned, conversations slowed, eyes shone with jealousy.

"You're pretty good," he announced without introduction, though he'd never spoken a word to me before. He attacked a pile of rubbery noodles with a plastic fork practically before he was sitting.

I laughed. "Thanks. So are you," I told him, and it was true. Jonah and William were easily the best two on the team, set extra miles to run, extra push-ups, and extra time goals.

"First billed," he declared proudly. I knew that too, as the coach had us line up in our billing before even the practice races, and Sparkle Cowboy and I stood behind him, in the same position of the girls' side of the team. The school districts kept the gender division despite the fact that it was becoming recognised that girls could race quite as well as the boys, and I was fairly sure that had they not separated us, I would have had his position as well. "You applying for the opens?" he asked, watching me curiously through incredibly blue eyes.

The Open Trials were the standard conversation piece among aspiring riders everywhere. They drew jockeys from every sector of Midgar, as well as Kalm, Fort Condor and Junon. Scouts for every racing team would be there, and failing at the Opens basically ruined a rider's chance of making it, for that year at least. The only condition for entry was having completed formal schooling, which we would have in three more months.

"Of course," I told him, "And obviously you are."

He laughed. "Damn straight. I'm going to wow them."

"Who are you aiming for?" I asked him.

"GS," he replied immediately. No one with a brain cell wanted anything else than the Gold Saucer. They paid the best, brought the most fame and offered a secure future. Jonah leaned over the table toward me conspiringly, locking his eyes on mine. "I'm going to be world famous," he confided with a tiny, mocking smile. I hoped the twisting in my stomach wasn't visible on my face.

I smiled back at him calmly, somehow. "I'll bet," I told him.

"Well why do you ride?" he asked me, "It can't be for fame because you already have that, Estelle _Renegade_."

"I ride… because I have to, I guess. It's pretty much all I like doing and I can't imagine having to spend my life doing something else."

He watched me, his expression unreadable, then grinned. "Well, you're deep," he laughed, "The reporters will be all over you. Now me, I just want to be famous. I reckon most of us do."

"What about William?" I asked. William sat across the room, eating with a bookish group, who usually disappeared to the library soon after eating. I couldn't imagine that studious, down-to-earth William rode to seek fame.

Jonah scowled. "Who cares what that loser wants. Friends, you'd think, a haircut and a life."

I laughed, "What?"

He stared at me suddenly, suspicious. "Are you and him friends or something?"

"No," I replied without hesitation or much guilt, "The school makes me get tutored by him, but you know, I'd rather not." Ok so maybe there was some guilt in an awful place in the back of my head. But it could stay there. I didn't need to get in between some weird rivalry between Will and Jonah.

Jonah smiled again, all sunshine and joy, stabbing his fork back into the pasta. "Good. He's not worth spending time with, boring git. I'd feel sorry for him if he didn't bring it on himself."

A second later two other boys and some girls from the team appeared, clapping Jonah on the back and launching into stories that started "Gods, Estelle, you would _not _believe-" The atmosphere changed, and by the end of lunch Jonah was kicking an apple core around with some other guys. I tried not to watch too closely, but a few times I looked up and Jonah looked right back at me, flashing me that tiny, wolfish smile.

The group introduced me to a whole new side of the school. Most weekends someone on the team or someone they knew would throw a party. The wild bashes took me aback the first few times, but everyone was so relaxed and wild – I suddenly knew what I'd been missing out on with no other kids my age my whole life. Jonah was always there, on the periphery. I always had a feeling for where he was, when he entered a room, and when I was talking to other boys I often felt his eyes on me. When he joined me one night sitting out on someone's parents' verandah and his arm was around and then his lips were on mine it just seemed like a natural step.

The rivalry between Will and Jonah was the only major sour point in my life. I didn't really need the explanation when one of the girls on the team informed me that the two of them didn't get along at all. They were constantly competing to be first billed and had gotten into fights more than a couple of times. William had been a part of the group I now hung around, but he and Jonah had butted heads so many times that William had gotten sick of it and left. Honestly I couldn't imagine quiet, serious Will fitting in with these people at all, but I still wished I could talk openly about one to the other.

I skipped a few tutoring sessions, spending the time instead training and hanging out with Jonah, and went to a few parties held on weeknights, and before I knew it my grades were dropping again. Will didn't really mention it at all, simply continued to study with me before and after training and occasionally before school. He was reimbursed for the time he spent by my father through the school in some convoluted way, but I appreciated him doing it all the same, especially since the Opens were coming up and he could have used the time to train instead. He brushed off my thanks, telling me it would be worth it, that his greatest accomplishment in life would be if he actually managed to get a thickhead like me through school.

He still teasingly called me Ester and I called him Chocoboy, due to his unfortunate last name. His hair was still too long and he still wore weird clothes, like Wutaian print shirts and ill-fitting cargo pants, but it worried me less. He'd proven that he was a worthwhile person and for probably the first time in my life, I made the deep realisation that that mattered more than the other things. Yeah, yeah, I was shocked at my own sudden depth, as well.

I never told Joe that I was spending time with William, and let on to William that I spent a lot less time with Joe than I really did, and back then I actually managed to juggle being friends with both of them at the same time with some measure of success, or at least a lot less devastation than I would encounter later in life.

In actual fact I did spend less time with Jonah as exams arrived, and the few months worth of information that I'd cultivated had to be dredged up at once. William really came through for me, making sure I was caught up and stayed caught up. We spent hours in the library, drinking expensive imported coffee I had my maids bring, and reading until my eyes watered. I had to deal with stress suddenly, ripping out handfuls of hair and calling William's house bawling, convinced I was too stupid to ever finish school and what had I been thinking.

In the week between exams and results I went camping with Jonah and few other kids from the team, and enjoyed it a lot for a girl who had never lived without a staff to keep everything clean and folded and pristine. We sunbathed and swam and slept a lot, and Joe and I went for a lot of private walks up the beach, to sunbathe and swim and make out.

We returned to discover we'd all passed, but were allowed no more rest, as the following weeks were spent in constant training for the Opens. Jonah, who grew up in Junon and lived on campus rather than commute all the way, arranged for me to stay in one of the rooms left vacant by a student who'd returned home, and we had most of the school to ourselves. Sparkle Cowboy was the fittest he'd ever been, and seemed to enjoy friendship as much as I did, warking madly to the other birds whenever we entered.

William was around but I didn't see him much; I was usually with Jonah and didn't want to make a big deal out of it, so short of a brief wave and a nod on the training field, we had little contact. His rivalry with Joe was stronger than ever, as now the two were competing for something tangible – a contract with a real team. I was confident about my own chances, not just because of my name, but because most days I could outrun all but occasionally Joe and William, and I'd raced enough tournaments to know better than to be affected by nerves.

Joe and I faked nerves the night before the Opens anyway, claiming that we had to keep each other company that night. We were innocent enough – or at least, I was – that we did nothing but get a good night's rest for the following day, but all the same the rest of the team giggled and teased us all through breakfast. William, who had arrived early from Kalm and was eating with the rest, refused to meet my eyes. I didn't care much, because Joe wrapped an arm around me as we ate and I was sure that the two of us would be picked up later that day for a life of luxury and fame. Of course, I had no idea how life worked in those days, and clearly no suspicion of how mine would turn out, but back then I could snatch happiness where it came so probably I was better off.


	2. Not In the Stars, But In Ourselves

There were people everywhere in the school grounds. There were chocobos of all colours being unloaded from cars, groomed and led around, children stuffing hotdogs and popcorn into their mouths despite it only being half past eight, nervous looking teens and even more nervous looking twenty-somethings in full riding regalia. Reporters fixed giant cameras on us as we stepped out of the building, the Midgar Academy rich kids striding down to our familiar track. I glanced at Jonah as all the eyes in the fields swung to us, and his face mirrored the tiny excited smile on my own. He took my hand as we walked on, and a rush of elation filled me. This was our day.

We all broke up as we entered the stable to tack up our birds for the biggest race we'd ever run. I was alone as I entered my bird's stall, and I immediately noticed that something was wrong with Sparkle Cowboy. He was swaying on his feet, drowsy and confused. He kept pressing his head against the side of his stall and warking loudly. I screamed for someone to fetch the vet – the coach, the stable boy, anyone. Jonah and Will were the first to appear beside me.

"What's wrong with him?" I shrieked frantically, trying to lift his big, familiar head into my lap.

William knelt beside me, stroking the chocobo's silver plumage. "Looks like he's been drugged," he frowned. "Someone probably bribed one of the stablehands."

"What?" I exclaimed, because in those days I really was that uninformed and naïve. "Why?"

Both boys shot me the exact same patronising look. "To give someone an advantage," Jonah told me.

"But… they… GODS how can anyone be so…" I was close to tears. I wasn't used to people deliberately wishing me ill, and on the biggest day of the year, maybe of my life, I didn't know what to do. This day came once a year, if Cowboy wasn't ready by my race – that was it.

"It's ok," William said, standing up and reaching out to me.

"Yeah." Jonah was beside me in a second, beating his rival to sling an arm over my shoulder. "We'll tell them what happened, and you can just use a school bird today."

"A school bird!" I exclaimed, "I'm going from riding a silver to riding a school bird in one day? In the Opens?"

"It doesn't matter about the bird, Ester," William told me, "It's how you handle it. And you're a fantastic rider."

I sighed, resigned, and a vet finally arrived. She basically confirmed that Sparkle Cowboy had been drugged, and should recover uneventfully. She sent for the stableboys and her colleagues to help her treat him. I didn't want to leave him, but Jonah and Will were insistent. So while Joe went to talk to the officials, William took me to choose from the school birds.

Most of them were poor quality, but there were a few average and I managed to find a single good bird. It was a bit temperamental, but the best we could do. William and I went to one of the rougher practice circuits, with only a few other riders practicing, and I attempted to familiarise myself with the bird. Its feathers felt all wrong beneath me and its gait was uneven. I was also fairly sure it had also been trained on the other continent, which was evident because it was trained to respond to the reins all _wrong – _when I pulled left for Cowboy he went left (_obviously_) but this bird had been taught to respond by turning right. It was like learning to ride all over again!

The sun rose too quickly alongside us, and before we were ready my race was being called. Will hurried off to prepare his lilac chocobo, Greta, and I led the school bird to the marshalling area.

The bird startled at the gun. It was a disastrous beginning to a worse race. It balked and tried to back up as the other racers shot off ahead. I managed to kick it to a start on my third attempt, and on the initial stretch we made ground quickly towards everyone else. We cleared the first jump easily, not quite as smoothly as Sparkle Cowboy could fly but as well as could be expected on a new bird, and I had gained some confidence back as we approached the second. We had overtaken two of our competitors as we reached it, and I spurred my mount on. We sailed over it.

The mid-stretch has always been my favourite part of the race. Sitting back and feeling the movement of the animal through every vibration and twitch of the bird beneath me, unconsciously detecting flaws in our gait and making imperceptible adjustments to correct it. I felt like a beautiful mutant; a fusion of human and bird and I pitied anyone in the world who had never been privileged to experience this. We wound through a "mystery path" none of us were familiar with, dotted with distractions and minor obstacles, before returning to the school course.

I felt at one with the bird, at last. He finally understood what I wanted, and I understood him. We were in second place and closing in on the leader with every step, and there were just two jumps between us and the finish. I kicked him on to the first one, drawing alongside the other girl as we approached.

He hesitated, skidded in the dust while warking his head off. I fought him, trying to steer him around the jump to minimise injury as he would never make it now, and we collided heavily with the girl – the current winner - in the next lane. She hurled abuse at me, as her bird stumbled over its own jump and staggered a few steps before picking back up into a jog. I had less success with my own bird, who leapt into the air, beating its wings and trying to twist around. It kicked the jump to the ground and came down heavily into a kneel. I fought to control it, tugging at its reins to get it to stand, but the chocobo had apparently had enough of me. It rolled.

Once, when I was a kid, I'd seen a chocobo roll with a rider. One of my father's competitors, Redhot Rogan, a native Correllian well known for mistreating his birds and overzealous use of the whip, had his signature bright red chocobo drop to its knees and flip over mid-race. Redhot tried to fight the bird back up, laid into with the whip and yanked on its reins. Within a few seconds the bird had rolled over and was up again, ready to run. Redhot was still on the ground, leaking blood and not moving. As an eight-year-old I'd been both entranced and horrified. And I wasn't about to repeat his mistake.

I kicked off it and jumped, landing a few metres from the roughly two hundred kilo bird, and stumbling awkwardly on my right ankle, which immediately speared my shin with pain. The bird rose and stared at me through a beady black eye. I stared back, and approached it, confidently, painfully slowly considering the other birds coming up not far from us. It shied away twice, but finally stood stock still and begrudgingly allowed me to mount. Just as I'd swung my good leg over and gave him a squeeze – shooting another blast of agony up my leg but provoking two good strides – the third place holder finally caught us.

Startled by the bird suddenly appearing beside it, the school chocobo halted suddenly and spun around to check behind it. I was thrown up towards its head but kept hold of the reins, tossed only as far as its neck. I slid down around its long neck toward the ground, but flung my good leg back over its back, hanging half on and half off in an awkward looking hug. I reined it in tightly and tried to haul myself back on but with a final "WAAAARK" it gave up completely and thundered toward the crowd. My head was inches from its powerful claws, and the only thing left to do was throw myself from it once again, rolling when I hit the ground and throwing my hands up. I needn't have, as it was still headed straight for the audience. There were several shots and it fell to the ground, tranquilised or dead, I couldn't tell. I didn't care. I lay where I'd landed, staring at the wide blue sky and trying not to think that my chance was over before it had begun.

I was helped off the field and my ankle was bound up, and not long after that - I wasn't too sure when - I started crying, because it was so damn _unfair_, that someone poisoned my bird and then I got stuck with a school bird when I was actually really good at this, and now I'd lost my chance at life and would have to go back to just following my Father around, for at least the next year.

I spent the afternoon up the top corner of the bleachers watching the other races and trying to keep myself from crying anymore. Jonah and William were in separate races and both won, of course. Nobody else fell off a bird. I saw Jonah go off with the rest of the group, but Will came and found me as the sun was setting and everyone was packing up and heading home, heaving empty eskies into cars next to sleeping kids and leading exhausted chocobos into trailers.

He sat beside me and wrapped an arm around me, an uncharacteristic gesture, but a welcome one. He didn't attempt to say anything comforting except, "Oh, Ester," and then later, "Ester, Ester, Ester." I was too tired to talk at all by then, and let him walk me home, to my Father's house in the most upscale neighbourhood of Midgar. He came from farmland himself, and I could see he was taken aback by the magnitude of our wealth, but I practically begged him to come in and keep me company, and we spent the night watching terrible made-for-tv movies, my leg propped on a cushion and the maids fussing over me, while we steadfastly avoided talking about what had gone on that day.

It was unfair, of course. He'd done so brilliantly he should have been celebrating, being gushed over and discussing prospects. Instead he was trapped with a spoiled little girl who'd had things go badly for the first time in her life. But that night any unselfishness I'd started to cultivate was overtaken by the fact that I really needed a friend – and Will was the best one I had at that point.

I wasn't allowed to move for the rest of the week, not that I particularly wanted to. I ate and watched television, flicking away sulkily at any mention of chocobo racing. Sparkle Cowboy remained in the stable, recovering from whatever he'd been given, as well as powerful emetics and whatever else the vet had administered – his poo had been black and sloppy, the stableboy reported, but he was otherwise well. Joe had returned to Junon and William was back at his family's farm, doing as much work as he could before he inevitably got picked up by a team. Father called a few times. He'd heard about the trials but barely mentioned them, except to rage about Cowboy's poisoning. He was in Costa del Sol, and thought I should come and join him. It was probably the most attention he'd paid to me since I was born, and I agreed that when my leg was better I would come. In fact my leg was fine by then, but I just couldn't face going back to my old life already, when I had only just left that behind and found one of my own. I couldn't just pick up where I'd left off, while Joe and William and everyone I knew went to make their fame and do what I loved, for a living.

I didn't know what I was going to do instead, though, until Sunday, when William suddenly called, his words tumbling out in excitement.

"Ester! Oh gods Ester I _told _you it would be ok, that it was about how you could ride, and IfritShivaOdin this is _great!" _

"What is it?" I asked him, laughing weakly, "Spit it out, Chocoboy!"

"They took us, Ester!" he crowed, "The Gold Saucer team. We both got in!"


	3. Fear Not Death, But Never Living

William insisted that it must be because I'd fought so skilfully to get the bird back under control, when it was obvious that nothing could have stopped it from bolting. At any rate, I was able to return to my beloved, real home again at last, this time doing what I loved and making a name for myself. The initiate riders' rooms were nowhere near as grand as my own, as the daughter of the best rider the Gold Saucer had, but in the interests of teamship I moved into the cramped, sparse room they offered, with shared amenities.

The other initiates were nice but uninterested. We'd had to compete fiercely for a spot on the team and knew we'd still have to fight to keep it. To keep B-class from being flooded and make room for the new C riders, a fair number of initiates were dumped each year; during off-season before they'd even really competed, during on-season if they didn't keep their scores up, and immediately after the season ended, to make room for the up-and-comers. A few small cliques developed, of nervous riders clinging to others for support, but it seemed an uneasy alliance and I was glad I didn't need to be a part of it. A few others from our school group had been picked up, and we all ate together and sometimes caught plays together, but they were under a different coach to William and I so between our training schedule and theirs, we rarely saw them otherwise.

Jonah had been picked up by a fledgling independent team, Momentum. No one was really sure why he'd ended up with them – several people swore they knew for a fact he'd been offered spots on some of the top teams, a few people thought he'd even been offered GS. We spent many hours over coffee, and later beer, discussing what to do, eventually deciding on taking an indefinite break in our relationship so we could both focus on our careers. While I missed him intensely, the upside was that I no longer had to choose between spending time with him or with William. My old tutor and I trained together daily, going for morning run and whipping our birds into peak fitness. The stables here had constant surveillance, so there was no possibility that anyone could interfere with Sparkle Cowboy. We were provided with the GS rider uniforms, the deep green marking us as C-class initiates. We were rearing for a chance to prove ourselves, when we would receive our first invitation to ride.

Since we had arrived during the off season, C-Class races were common, while the A riders were elsewhere on the circuit, or in intensive training, and the people needed entertainment. It was still three weeks before William or I were summoned, but we weren't bored for a second. I was delighted to have someone to show around my childhood haunt, guiding him as though through my own house.

I proudly displayed my high scores on every game, and took him through the shortcuts and secret passages I'd discovered. We spent hours sitting by the chocobo tracks discussing our competition. Father was still in Costa del Sol, though he'd sent an enthusiastic congratulatory message when I'd been accepted to the GS team, wearing the colours he himself had donned twenty years ago.

Will and I grew close. I'd become accustomed to company and didn't want to lose it. He was grateful to have someone who knew the terrain, where he'd been thrown into a whole new environment, another level of glitz for a country boy used to wide open spaces. While most of the other riders were scared, lonely, uncertain, we sloped about in confidence, always together. I still thought of Jonah often, but I was sure he was fine in his new team; he was the most unflappable person I'd ever met.

Some days I did wish that it was Jonah beside me at GS. I missed his wit, and his supreme confidence and his charm. I felt that if Jonah were on the team there might be some more kinship between me and the others on the team, with his charisma there to open the door. But Will was kind where Joe was harsh, and so constantly good-natured that he was probably the best person to have with me as the weeks went past and still neither of us were invited to race.

In the end, Will was asked first, the fifth of the first season initiates to race. I helped him to prepare, training extra hard all week, pep-talking him and researching his competitors. He jokingly forced me to 'sweet-talk' one rider, Rudolf Green whose white mount Daisy reminded me of sweet old Wind. My poor attempts to flirt slipped into a heated discussion about the lineage of whites, ended when Will, shamelessly eavesdropping, was motioning so frantically at me to get back onto topic that Rudolf noticed him, and the two of us had to run back to 'hide out' in my family's quarters, where we laughed until we were crying.

I would be lying if I said I wasn't jealous, that Will had an opportunity to ride while I was still waiting, but I shoved it away and tried to be genuinely happy for him. Being super sensitive for a boy he was surely aware of it, and touched my shoulder or squeezed my arm a few times, an unusual action for him, as he wasn't a very physically affectionate person.

Finally his race day arrived. I went to his quarters at almost dawn, knowing that he would be awake.

"Morning Ester," he tried to smile, his face drawn and pale.

"Don't be nervous," I laughed, "You'll be great."

He looked unconvinced, as I dragged him down to breakfast and forced him to eat. We'd polished all of Greta's tack the day before, so we put it on her together, then walked her around the course, going over his strategy and his competitors' weaknesses. He rested after grooming Greta and eating a short lunch, and then suddenly it was time for him to get ready.

He seemed to have gotten over his nerves, and was talking animatedly. He was usually fairly low-energy and relaxed; this was probably the most energised I'd seen him. I walked him to the jockey room, then went back and sat in the stands by myself. There were a few familiar faces but I wanted to watch alone, couldn't be bothered with small talk.

When the jockeys came out he stood out, sitting absolutely still and calm on the back of his lilac mount. The other jockeys fidgeted, looked around, but my cool, collected friend just stroked his chocobo and stared ahead. I was growing nervous in his place, biting my lip and sizing up the other riders one last time.

I needn't have worried. Greta had great stats after all her training, and fell easily into first place, juggling between a sprint and a dash and easily outrunning the rest of them. The commentators announced that the boy was misplaced; here was a rider who was clearly ready for B-Class at least, and I couldn't help a little pang of jealousy. I was determined that they would say the same for me, whenever I was called.

William was invited to an after-race party to celebrate but declined, and we drank wine in my room and stayed up until dawn planning how awesome we were going to be in the future, and how we would turn the world around.

I waited for them to call me to my race, but as the weeks went on I began to doubt that the call would come. After three months, when Will had won half a dozen races and was approaching B-class times, I went to talk to the race organisers.

I was allowed in instantly, as Dio was a close friend of my father's. He was a fairly young man, about fifteen years older than me, who had only been running the chocobos for ten years, but was almost solely responsible for turning it from a small-time hobby into a flourishing international sport.

"Estelle!" he greeted me warmly, "How have you been?"

"Um, not so well actually," I told him, cutting to the chase immediately, "I was just wondering when I'm going to get to race." I'm now known for my no-bullshit attitude, in fact I think that's what's helped me to become the manager I am, and garner the respect I need to do my job. At the time I was so scared on the inside that I was pinching my own legs to keep a brave face.

Dio pursed his lips. "We've got an opportunity lined up," he told me, "We're waiting for a special occasion to introduce you to the circuit. You're a big name, and we want to use the publicity it will earn us."

"Is it soon?" I asked him, "Because I'm just waiting around and it's making me crazy."

"Less than three weeks," he assured me. I was a little bit confused, because the serious chocobo season began again in a fortnight, and the A-level riders would be returning, Father among them.

"So after that I'll be able to ride regularly?"

"Well…" Dio hesitated, "Yes, assuming you perform well enough. We took something of a risk taking you on, you know, after what happened in the Opens."

"Opens?" I repeated, "Well I know it wasn't good, but I _can _ride! You haven't even tested me! Ask Coach DeRobbins, I-"

"Estelle, you were debirded. If it weren't for your father…"

It suddenly hit me. I felt my mouth drop open. "My father? You mean… you only took me on because of Father?"

"Well we weren't going to pass up our hero's daughter," Dio chuckled conspiringly but I just stared back at him in horror.

"Let me ride," I told him firmly, "And I will prove that I can."

"Three weeks," he promised, and stood up to escort me to the door.

I returned to my room, raged at the walls, then went to find Will. He was practicing dodges with Greta, but slid from her back and made his way over to me when I stormed onto the track.

"What's up?" he asked, frowning. I told him what Dio had told me, along with an expletive-ridden description of the man and a hard kick to a feed bucket.

Will stared back at me, equally disgusted. "But you _can _ride!" he exclaimed, "Why even have you here at all if they're not letting you ride? Why not just let you stay here as a citizen?"

"I don't know," I told him, close to tears as usual. Why was it that every time I cried it was with William Choco? "Gods, why _didn't _they just leave me? Maybe someone else would have had me, and taken me for who I am, and not made me wait two months!"

"Well at least you'll have your chance soon," he shrugged, "Train extra hard and teach them for ever doubting you."

I smiled up at him fiercely. "I will," I swore, and I intended to.

I received my invitation a week later, and the stakes were raised. It was for an exhibition ride, in the official opening of the on-season. It would be watched by thousands, and the most famous riders in the world would participate. I could feel that this time Will was the jealous one, but I didn't have time to attempt to reassure him. I spent nearly every waking moment training, slashing through one personal best after another, until I was almost sure that Sparkle Cowboy was flying with his stubby little wings.

On the day of the ride it was Will helping me, shining my tack and making me eat at breakfast. We were largely unnoticed, as the A-Riders had begun to appear a few days ago. My father had flown in that night, though I hadn't had a chance to see him. The rainbow silks of a dozen smaller teams filled the dining hall, and we had to push our way through once we were done eating.

I was due at the course as soon as breakfast ended, for a rehearsal of the ride. As I entered on Sparkle Cowboy, I was surprised to see that there were a handful of A riders, including, I saw, my stomach dropping in realisation, my father.

"Estelle!" he grinned, steering his mount toward mine, "How's it going? Ready to ride with your old man?"

"With you?" I repeated slowly.

"Oh, they haven't briefed you I take it? Simple as pie, the A-Class do the run, plenty of flash and pizzazz, and you and Rob – have you two met, actually? Estelle, this is my protégé Robel, Rob this is my daughter Estelle – flank me either side, run along behind me grinning at the crowd. They've got some doohickey set up, you'll have glitter or light or something blasting out behind you. You won't have any problems."

I had more than a few problems, actually. Rob, a silent, compact, tightly muscled boy a few years older than me, and I trailed my father, like children propped up on tamed fairground donkeys trained to plod along in a line. The A-Class riders ducked and weaved magnificently, their subordinates following like fools.

They made us rehearse until lunchtime, as though even a child couldn't pick up on the single instruction. As soon as it was over I took Sparkle Cowboy to the stables as fast as I could without galloping, and set about removing his tack and cooling him down furiously. I knew Will would be waiting, and was close to tears of mortification at the thought of explaining to him that I wasn't even riding with my father – I was trailing him.

I couldn't delay it forever, and needed to rant, so I headed out of the stables and toward my quarters, where I was sure he'd wait. As soon as I stepped out, though, I almost ran into a familiar figure, dressed in bright orange silks and lounging insolently in a corridor strictly for GS riders only. His hair was longer than before, packed so densely on his head that it sat up straight and bristled in every direction, and somehow his legs had also grown even longer, but he was practically the same as ever.

"_Jonah!" _I shrieked, and threw myself at him. He laughed and pushed at me as I punched him semi-jokingly in the head, "Why didn't you write, you loser? Too important with your new team?" In truth I hadn't written to him either, but he didn't mention that.

"I was daunted. Why would a GS rider want to associate with a puny little independent for?"

My stomach flipped. GS rider. Joe twisted the knife.

"But then I got here and it turns out, you aren't one, are you?" he asked, his voice quiet.

I just looked at him. What was there to say? We'd dreamed so big, back in school. Three months suddenly felt like a long time, to have done nothing while everyone else did the opposite.

"I was watching," he told me.

"They're making me look like an idiot," I whispered.

"You don't need this, Estelle," he told me emphatically. "You're brilliant and we both know it."

I was still holding onto his forearms, and I felt how he had changed. His muscles were rock hard and more defined under his silks, and every bit of him was tanned. His hand, which reached up to grasp my wrist, was calloused and strong. I traced a hand over the orange material on his chest, felt his pectorals, and beneath them, his heart. I studied the lurid colour, because I didn't know what else to look at. .

"What am I supposed to do?" I asked him, "Drop out? Go back to following my father around? Become a, a, a teacher? Or a cook? Or a, a SOLDIER?"

"Defect," he told me simply.

"Defect?" I repeated, looking up into his face.

"Momentum will have you," he grinned, and I was reminded just how white his teeth were, and how _many _of them there were. I remembered putting my mouth over his, how many hours I'd spent with him. He wasn't as loyal and dependable as Will, but when he set out of do something, he got it done. "Even more, Momentum will make you a star. _Tonight._"

He was intoxicating. Putting my life in his hands wasn't even a choice, why bother fighting it? "What do I do?"


End file.
